Page 81 of Tusks & Saddles
“Yes,” Welborn groaned.
Whether he was obeying her request or simply lost in the sensation of sinking back into her, he wasn’t sure. All Welborn knew was that Miss Eaves felt just as wonderful as the first time. A heat that was like nothing he had ever known before that night, one that Welborn helplessly buried himself in over and over again.
For all of his inexperience, there was something very cathartic about having sex—instinctual, even. Though he questionedwhether or not it was wise to voice those near-philosophical thoughts to Miss Eaves. She was so beautiful to look at, head thrown back against the ground, back arching as Welborn rolled his hips. Their first time together had been about his first, but this time was about exploration. About knowing what she liked—this much Welborn was determined to know.
Welborn experimented, daring to touch more than just her hips. Miss Eaves liked it when he brushed her nipple over her slip. But when Welborn dared to mouth the hardened flesh through the material, she gasped and arched even higher to him. She also seemed to like it when he shifted his hips—a different angle that appeared to have aligned with some magic inside of her.
“Welborn,” she gasped. “Welborn, don’t tease.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No,” another moan, another hitch of breath. “I want more. Put your mouth on me, Welborn, put your fingers here—”
Miss Eaves’ hands fell from his hair, but her hips kept moving against his. She tore at the string at the front of her slip until her breasts were bare. The sight nearly stalled Welborn, his eyes fixated on the gentle sway of them with every heavy exhale. It was her fingers that startled him, brushing against his pubic bone.
“Bring your hand here,” she said.
Welborn did, allowing Miss Eaves to guide his hand between them. He was confused at first, until his fingers brushed something that made Miss Eaves jump. Reflexively, Welborn paused, ready to rip his hand away, but Miss Eaves held onto him.
“This, this right here,” she sighed with pleasure. “Rub your fingers here, like this.”
The motion was easy enough to follow with her guiding his hand. Once he recognized the pattern, Welborn rubbed and watched in awe as she groaned louder.
“Yes, yes, like that,” she nearly cried, releasing his hand. “Oh, keep moving, Welborn!”
He had always been a good student, and this was no different. Welborn rolled his hips more steadily now, his fingers moving urgently against her skin. When Miss Eaves’ hands landed in his hair, he followed her insistent guidance toward her breast. Her nipple felt different in his mouth, the plump flesh of her breast brushing against his face.
And thenoisesshe was making—thesoundsalone were enough to make him shiver. He felt her quiver, felt her tighten so harshly around his cock that Welborn gasped against her breasts.
“Oh, yes,” she cried. “Yes, oh, don’t stop!”
Fuck.
Eager to please, Welborn thrust with an abandon he had been trying to deny. He grunted with every thrust, fingers gradually losing any finesse as she shuddered beneath him. When her hands tightened along his scalp, wrists pressing against his pointed ears, Welborn knew something big was about to happen. Could feel the way her hips suddenly met his more desperately.
“Welborn,” Miss Eaves moaned. “Oh, fuck, Welborn, I’m—”
“Yes,” he groaned against her breasts. “Yes, yes, yes—”
The mindless words that escaped Welborn’s mouth meant nothing as he spilled inside her, groaning with terrible relief. He hoped she had reached her peak and was quickly assured she had as MissEaves tightened like a bowstring. She tensed so harshly, that for a moment Welborn worried that he might have injured her. But the mess of wetness between them said differently, and the way Miss Eaves gently rocked into him until exhaustion fell upon her reassured him of that.
Gasping, Welborn pressed his face more snugly against her, kissing the top of her breasts. Miss Eaves ran her fingers through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck.
Welborn knew only one thing as they caught their breath.
He really wanted to do the whole thing again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Beatrix
When Beatrix woke up the next morning, she was surprised by two things.
One—she couldn’t remember taking watch at all, which most likely meant that she had not. Secondly, she was buried beneath Welborn’s coat, and that immediately brought back the memories of the night before.
It had been some time since Beatrix had sex quite like that. Not only good sex—Welborn’s ability to follow instruction and enthusiasm had made up for his inexperience—but sex that had stretched throughout the night. The kind that happened until neither of them could physically do it any longer.
“I want to, but I’m afraid my cock is a bit sore,” Welborn had said after the fourth time.
